


A Mother's Love

by tabrisin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Implied Female Lavellan/Solas, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabrisin/pseuds/tabrisin
Summary: The Inquisitor is sent to protect her clan. A happy reunion ensues, but is interrupted by her mother.





	A Mother's Love

During her time with the Inquisition, Shialle never stopped missing Clan Lavellan. She missed it desperately: the forest, the relative peace and quiet, and most of all, her friends. Somehow, she had managed to forge new relationships with her associates in the Inquisition, but Shialle’s dearest friends remained in the Free Marches.

Skyhold was not her home. It could never be her home, Clan Lavellan already was. So when that home was threatened by shemlen bandits, Shialle rushed to their aid. The end of the world would have to wait.  
Luckily, Sister Nightingale’s agents had arrived long before the Inquisitor’s smaller party, and the clan was perfectly safe. Shialle took the opportunity to reunite with her clanmates, and remind herself that she would have somewhere to return to once this whole Inquisitor business was done.

Keeper Deshanna was overjoyed to see her. The two had a lengthy conversation concerning the nature of the Mark, and the implications of Corypheus’ orb. Shialle was then trapped in a bear-hug when Fiowyn and her adopted sister Athelwyn returned from a hunt. All her companions but Solas were shocked to see the affectionate and humorous side of Shialle come out.

The Inquisition’s most famous members were relatively respectful to Clan Lavellan. Naturally, Sera ruffled some feathers, and Shialle had to glare at Solas multiple times in order to stop him from arguing with one of the clan-members, but it went better than she could’ve imagined.

When Dorian was nearly gored by a halla he disturbed, she managed to slip away further out of camp. She sat near the Fen’Harel statues that had guarded the clan since before she was born, remembering the serenity she had felt sitting in that spot years before. The wind ruffled the trees of the forest, and Shialle felt that she was finally back where she belonged. She closed her eyes, and pretended she was no longer Inquisitor.

“Da’len,” came a voice behind her.   
Her mother. Shialle had been avoiding her since the Inquisition’s arrival, so naturally she would show herself now.

A part of Shialle - an idiotic, childish part - imagined she would turn to see her mother in tears, and she would be swept up in a hug and comfort and frantic questions: ‘are you hurt? are they treating you well? how are you feeling?’  
The things mothers are meant to do. 

But L’athana was never a true mother. Shialle turned to see the same icy glare she had grown up with bearing down on her. She was well over middle age now, but had aged well. Age suited her, with her severe features reminiscent of a ruthless dictator.   
Shialle’s features lacked that sharpness, but she was disgusted that she was still able to see herself in her mother’s face. They shared the same piercing blue eyes, the same nose, the same dark hair that framed their faces. Shialle had always worried that their similarities would one day extend beyond their appearances.  
Her father had died a few years back, and Shialle had thought would soften her mother. It had not.

“Mother,” Shialle said.

She stood up to her full height, and her mother began circling her, their typical routine. Despite the anxiety that came with meeting her mother like this, Shialle was pleased to see that she was taller than the woman who had controlled every second of her life.

Her mother, evidently done with her appraisal, stopped walking.  
“You waltz back here,” she began, “followed by shemlen and flat-ears, and do not even greet your mother.”

Shialle bowed her head slightly, and was surprised to hear a subtle anger in her voice as she replied, “I meant no disrespect.” 

“You’ve abandoned your clan, da’len,” came a hissed response.

This, this, lit a fire in the pit that had begun growing in her stomach since she heard her mother’s voice. Addressing Shialle as “little one”, when she had seen nearly thirty-five winters, did not help.

Her mother took her silence as a cue to continue, devoid of all emotions save for disgust: “I should not need to remind you that you are First of this clan. You have duties, responsibilities, and yet you go off to muddle in shemlen affairs, failing as you always do. The Breach remains in the sky, when I hear you were meant to close it. It seems you have yet again failed in advancing your magic.” She paused, let her words sink in, before saying, “Nevermind that in your absence, we were all nearly killed.”

Shialle’s head snapped up, hot tears burning in her eyes.

“How dare you reprimand me for this!” her voice shook, not with fear, but with fury. “I have sent supplies to this clan, I sent soldiers to defend you! I have done nothing in my life but obey you, I have done nothing but what you wish me to do, and you label me a failure for what? For being forced into the shems’ conflict?!” The clan could likely hear her shouting, but she did not care. “I nearly died at the Conclave, do you understand that? Do you realize that I had no choice in this?”   
Her voice broke as she finished, “Do you even care about the danger I am in?”

Her mother’s silent stare confirmed that she had gone too far. Never in her life had she spoken to her mother like that, never had she even dared to challenge her mother’s insults. For a moment, all Shialle heard was her heart beating in her ears and wind in the trees.

Her mother’s arm tensed, and she moved to strike her daughter. Shialle flinched, and quickly reached into the Fade to create a soft shield around her skin, hoping to diminish the pain.

Instead, her mother yelped in pain as ice began to creep its way up from her fingertips.

“How dare you!” her mother growled, clutching her half-frozen arm.

Shialle was as surprised as she. “I-I do not,” she fumbled, before taking a breath and regaining her composure. “I have faced down horrors greater than you, L’athana. You cannot scare me any longer.”

It was not true, but that didn’t matter. Shialle spoke her mother’s name with all the venom she could muster, and her words seemed to wash over her mother like a tidal wave.

If Shialle had thought her mother capable of feeling remorse, then the brief flash of hurt and confusion on her mother’s face might have given her pause. But then her visage returned to its expression of fury, and she silently stood up and stormed away.

Shialle breathed deeply, and crumpled to the ground, weeping.


End file.
